


Good Times Bad Times

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred is a fanboy, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: Famed assassin Arthur Kirkland meets his biggest fan, who ambushes him in his own apartment.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	Good Times Bad Times

A creak. A breath. The movement of clothing on a human body.

This was practically embarrassing. Whoever was lying in wait in Arthur’s flat wasn’t very stealthy at all.

The Englishman kicked the door closed—partway, an easy escape just in case, though it was doubtful he’d need it—and shuffled out of his coat, playing dumb. They were likely in his bedroom. He hummed innocently, readied his blade, nonchalantly stepped toward the hallway—

Someone walked out of the bedroom. Just, walked right out, casual as could be, a huge stupid grin on their face—

Arthur sprung forward lightning-quick, shoving the blade forward, but his arm stopped short—the intruder gripped his forearm with painful force, pulled, pushed, twisted and the blade slipped free, but so did Arthur, and he was halfway across the living room in the blink of an eye. He crouched, another blade sliding to rest ready in his palm, and took in his assailant.

Five-foot-ten or so, medium frame hidden beneath a bulky leather jacket and blue jeans. Blond hair, tan skin, sparkling white teeth still bared in a near-manic smile. The man nonchalantly kicked Arthur’s lost knife behind him and stepped forward, hands in his pockets.

“Man, holy _shit_ , I can’t believe it’s really you.”

Arthur rushed him again, saw the way the stranger shifted his feet, knew he would dodge left but then—the man came _toward_ him, fast, much faster than Arthur expected, and the world shifted 180 degrees as Arthur was spun, now facing his living room, where his unwelcome guest stood unarmed and unfazed.

He whistled.

“You’re so _fast_. Like, I wanna see more of your moves, but if I don’t end this soon you’re gonna kick my ass!”

Arthur scoffed. His foot found the blade behind him, which he pivoted to his front, balanced on the top of his foot and kicked into his hand, all within a few seconds.

“Oh my god, you’re like a ballerina ninja. A ballerinja? That was so cool.”

“Ballerino, you twat. A male would be ballerino. Who the fuck are you?”

Arthur could see the man begin to practically vibrate in response to his voice.

“Alfred! Oh man, I’m so stoked to meet you. You and the Fileting Frenchman are the whole reason I got into this line of work!”

“Don’t you dare insinuate that bastard is anywhere near as inspiring as I am!” Arthur propelled himself off the wall, tossed a knife left for distraction, crouched right and drove himself into Alfred’s legs, slamming him into the floor.

But next Arthur knew, he was watching the knife in his hand sink into the carpet where the other’s face had been. Pain exploded in his lower back, and he found himself prone, face down in the floor with the other atop him.

“I can’t tell you how much of an honor this is, Mr. Kirkland.” Arthur could hear bindings being prepared. He could barely breathe, much less move, and the thought that he’d been bested—that, as Francis would say, his goose had finally been cooked, sunk into his brain as he sunk further into his living room rug.

He ought not be so excited to finally feel fear again.

As Alfred set about tying him up, he felt calloused fingers linger on a wrist before binding it. “Oh geez—your heart rate! Did I actually manage to scare ya?” His voice tilted up delightedly. “That’s a helluva feat, but of course I’m not gonna hurt you, I’d never do that. Oh gosh, I’m your biggest fan. You know, you nicked me earlier. I don’t think you noticed. I hope it scars!”

With far too much ease, Arthur was lifted from the floor. The door opened—so he hadn’t been alone, and how had there been others nearby without Arthur noticing, when had he lost his touch? Someone muttered in Russian and Alfred chirped back smoothly in reply. A bag over Arthur’s head. Well, at least it smelled clean.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Kirkland.” Alfred cooed. “Just taking you to meet my boss. You’re not in any danger. And I made a special mixtape for the ride!”

He was hurried into a vehicle—more voices, the muffled sound of an engine, someone buckled him in—and the same two voices as before argued briefly in Russian about who was in charge of the radio before Led Zeppelin’s _Whole Lotta Love_ started to play.

Well, Arthur’d had it worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what you think of this one-- kinda wrote it unexpectedly when an idea popped in my brain, not sure how it is. And I kept making typos, so please do let me know if you see any left over. Thanks for reading <3


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